


Miles to Go Before We Sleep

by Chillmaster3000



Series: The Walking Dead Job [3]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Walking Dead (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-23
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-13 08:13:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18936955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chillmaster3000/pseuds/Chillmaster3000
Summary: A place for all those TWDJ scenes that didn't fit in the main story





	Miles to Go Before We Sleep

**Author's Note:**

> After watching Endgame, I felt compelled to write something for Natasha. This contains no spoilers (as you might expect, given this is an AU) but I think it captures some of the same feelings I had about her. It also inadvertently became the moment Natasha fell for Michonne. Oh well.

Today is the first day Michonne and Natasha are out on their own to search for the Governor. A few people had concerns about them going just the two, but no one was really going to stop them. Michonne and Natasha had more than proved they could handle themselves. And so they left, taking a small car and a few rounds of backup ammo, just in case.

Neither woman is a chatterbox. Natasha quips a witticism here and there, Michonne replying in kind to most of them, but the drive out is fairly quiet. Michonne doesn’t mind. 

*

“You know,” Natasha says as Michonne yanks her katana from a Walker’s skull, “you’ve got an almost professional skill with that thing.”

“Almost professional?” Michonne repeats, kicking the corpse away. They were searching a house with recent tire marks out front. So far, all they’ve found inside are the dead. Natasha nods and shoves her knife back into its holster. “What exactly does that mean, almost professional?”

“Well, you’re obviously talented.” Natasha steps over the Walkers on the floor to walk into the kitchen. “Your form is practical, clearly mastered, but it’s not the form of someone who trained in swordsmanship. You’re self-taught. Most professionals aren’t.” Michonne follows Natasha. The kitchen has been searched, cabinets left open and drawers ajar. Natasha judges the pantry door to find it empty of people and supplies. 

“You’ve met a lot of professionals, have you?” Michonne says, keeping an eye on the windows for movement. Natasha scoffs as she glances through the cabinets for remaining treasures.

“A few,” She says. “Clint. Eliot. It’s cleared out in here.”

“Yeah, somebody came by for a snack run,” Michonne says. She leads the way into the next room, a dining room with dusty China and a sliding door. Apart from a toolbox on the table, there’s nothing of value here and no doors to hide behind. 

“Let’s come back for that,” Natasha says, gesturing to the toolbox. “Alec’s been complaining about the lack of tools.”

“Mhm.” Michonne is already looking to the narrow hallway ahead. She walks that way first, knowing Natasha is behind her despite the lack of sound. It’s a little odd, if she takes the moment to think about it, how easy it is to trust that Natasha is there. 

There are three rooms in the hallway: a bathroom with the shower curtain ripped and bloody; a large master bedroom with rusty stains on the floor; and an office the size of one cell at the prison. Michonne goes into the master first, since it has the most places to hide. She takes the closets while Natasha checks under the bed and pokes around for other spots. They repeat the process in the office before a half-hearted search of the bathroom.

“Well, there’s no one here, but there are some useful drugs left,” Natasha says, pulling the bottles out of the medicine cabinet. She shoves them into her pockets as they head for the stairs. 

“So where does one meet professional swordsmen?” Michonne asks. “Are there conventions or something?”

“It’s pretty normal for my line of work,” Natasha says. 

“Being a secret agent-slash-superhero?” Michonne replies. She glances at Natasha, expecting that trademark smirk of hers, but Natasha’s face is stony. 

“Job before that.” She doesn’t elaborate and Michonne turns back to the stairs. 

*

They are quiet for a while after that, searching for signs of life and finding only some supplies the Prison could use. They fill their bags and grab that toolbox before heading back to the car.

“Technically it wasn’t a job,” Natasha says, out of the blue as they put the supplies in the trunk, and Michonne doesn’t ask what she means. “I was… raised by the KGB. One of many little girls. We were trained to be killers, ready to carry out whatever orders our handlers gave. Perfectly obedient.” 

“Oh.” Michonne recalls when they found Penny, the Governor’s undead daughter, and what Natasha had said after that. 

“Barnes was there,” Natasha says. “He was still… not himself, but he helped train us. That’s how we know each other.” Michonne nods. “Eventually I got away from all that. Barton helped. He was supposed to take me out. He made a different call.”

“Lucky for us,” Michonne replies. Natasha stares, silent, and Michonne shuts the trunk. “That training must not have stuck either.”

“What makes you say that?” Natasha asks. 

“You’re out here with me,” Michonne says. “If it had stuck, you’d be at the Prison where the Council wanted you.” Natasha stares another moment before smiling. It’s a soft, shy smile very unlike the smirk Michonne has come to expect. 

“I guess I would be,” she says. “Thanks.”

“It’s the truth,” Michonne says. “Come on, we got time to hit a few more houses before dark.” Natasha nods and they walk away from the car together.


End file.
